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RILEY SONGS OF SUMMER 



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♦ ♦♦ 

NEGHBORLY POEMS 

SKETCHES IN PROSE WITH INTERLUDING VERSES 

AFTERWHILES 

PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY (Prose and Verse) 

RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD 

THE FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT 

GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS 

ARMAZINDY 

A CHILD-WORLD 

HOME-FOLKS 

HIS PA'S ROMANCE (Portrait by Clay) 

MORNING 



GREENFIELD EDITION 

Sold only in sets. Twelve volumes uniformly bound in sage- 
green cloth, gilt top $15.00 

The same in half-calf 30.00 



OLD-FASHIONED ROSES (English Edition) 

THE GOLDEN YEAR (English Edition) 

POEMS HERE AT HOME 

RUBllYAT OF DOC SIFERS 

THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN 

RILEY CHILD-RHYMES (Pictures by Vawter) 

RILEY LOVE-LYRICS (Pictures by Dyer) 

RILEY FARM-RHYMES (Pictures by Vawter) 

RILEY SONGS O' CHEER (Pictures by Vawter) 

RILEY SONGS OF SUMMER (Pictures by Vawter) 

AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE (Pictures by Christy) 

OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY'S (Pictures by Christy) 

HOME AGAIN WITH ME (Pictures bv Christy) 

A DEFECTIVE SANTA CLAUS (Forty Pictures by Relyea 

and Vawter) 
WHILE THE HEART BEATS YOUNG (Pictures by Betts) 
THE RAGGEDY MAN (Pictures by Betts) 
THE ORPHANT ANNIE BOOK (Pictures by Betts) 
THE RUNAWAY BOY (Pictures by Betts) 
RILEY CHILD VERSE (Pictures by Betts) 




** * 




RILEY 



SONGS OF SUMMER 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



WITH PICTURES BY 

WILL VAVVTER 



INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright 1883, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894, 1896, 1897, [i 
1899, 1900, 1901, 1903, 1905, 1907, 1908 

by 

James Whitcomb Kiley 
All Rights Reserved 



LIBRARY of C9NtiKE6S 
two Copies rteteirw! 

SEP 14 1*08 






4- 



PRINTED BY 

CHARLES FRANCIS PRESS 

NEW YORK 



TO 

LEE 0. HARRIS 

TEACHER, FRIEND AND COMRADE 



THE SUMMER-TIME 

O, the summer-time to-day 

Makes my words 
Jes' flip up and fly away 
Like the birds! 

— ' Taint no use to try to sing, 
With yer language on the wing, 
Jes' too glad fer anything 
But to stray 

Where it may 
Thue the sunny summer weather of the day! 

Lordy! what a summer-time 

Fer to sing! 
But my words flops out o' rhyme, 
And they wing 

Furder yit beyent the view 
Than the swallers ever flew, 
Br a mortal wanted to— 
'Less his eye 
Struck the sky 
Ez he kind o' sort o' thought he'd like to fly! 

Ef I COULD sing — sweet and low — 

And my tongue 
Could twitter, don't you know, 
Ez I sung 

Of the summer-time, 'y Jings! 
All the words and birds and things 
That kin warble, and hes wings, 
Would jes' swear 
And declare 
That they never heerd sich singin' anywhere! 



CONTENTS 

All-Golden, The ........ 124 

An Old Friend 25 

At Ninety in the Shade . .... . . 82 

August 49 

Ballade of the Coming Rain, The .... 153 

Circus Parade, The 74 

Clover, The . . . . ^ . . . . . 116 

Country Pathway, A ...... 143 

Dawn, Noon and Dewfall . . . . . ' . 161 

Down Around the River 59 

Fishing Party, The 97 

Full Harvest, A 115 

Glimpse of Pan, A 72 

He and I 178 

Hoosier Spring-Poetry . . . . . . 103 

In Swimming-Time 89 

In the South 52 

June ........... 177 

King, The 137 

Knee-Deep in June '. ... 108 

Laughing Song 57 

Little Red Ribbon, The ....... 46 

Lullaby 94 

McFeeters* Fourth ........ 27 

Me and Mary 6y 

Muskingum Valley, The 155 

Noon Interval, A • . 170 



CONTENTS— Continued 

Old-Fashioned Roses ... ... 133 

Old Hay-Mow, The 162 

Old Swimmin'-Hole, The . . .... 119 

On the Banks o' Deer Crick 41 

On the Sunny Side 173 

Pansies 107 

Pomona 64 

Shower, The 38 

Slumber-Song 139 

Song, A 171 

Sudden Shower, A 166 

Summer's Day, A 19 

Them Flowers 54 

Thoughts Fer the Discuraged Farmer ... 33 

To Loll Back in a Misty Hammock .... 40 

Tree-Toad, The 87 

Up and Down Old Brandywine 182 

Voice From the Farm, A 79 

When June Is Here 32 

When the Green Gits Back in the Trees . . 159 

While the Musician Played 101 

With the Current 128 

Wraith of Summertime, A . ... 80 

Yellow-Bird, The ....... 140 



RILEY SONGS OF SUMMER 




A SUMMER'S DAY 

THE Summer's put the idy in 
My head that I'm a boy again ; 
And all around's so bright and gay 
I want to put my team away, 
And jest git out whare I can lay 
And soak my hide full of the day ! 
But work is work, and must be done — 
Yit, as I work, I have my fun, 
Jest fancyin' these furries here 
Is childhood's paths onc't more so dear 



19 



And as I walk through medder-lands, 

And country lanes, and swampy trails 
Whare long bullrushes bresh my hands; 

And, tilted on the ridered rails 

Of deadnin' fences, "Old Bob White" 
Whissels his name in high delight, 
And whirrs away. I wunder still 
Whichever way a hoy's feet will — 
Whare trees has fell, with tangled tops 

Whare dead leaves shakes, I stop fer breth, 
Heerin' the acorn as it drops — 

iristin' my chin up still as deth, 
And watchin' clos't, with upturned eyes, 
The tree where Mr. Squirrel tries 
To hide hisse'f above the limb, 
But lets his own tale tell on him. 
I wunder on in deeper glooms — 

Git hungry, hearin' female cries 
From old farm-houses, whare perfumes 

Of harvest dinners seems to rise 
And ta'nt a feller, hart and brane, 
With memories he can't explane. 

I wunder through the underbresh, 

Whare pig-tracks, pintin" to'rds the crick, 
20 



A SUMMER S DAY 

Is picked and printed in the fresh 

Black bottom-lands, like wimmern pick 
Theyr pie-crusts with a fork, some way, 
When bakin' fer camp-meetin' day. 
I wunder on and on and on, 
Tel my gray hair and beard is gone, 
And ev'ry wrinkle on my brow 
Is rubbed clean out and shaddered now 
With curls as brown and fare and fine 
As tenderls of the wild grape-vine 
That ust to climb the highest tree 
To keep the ripest ones fer me. 
I wunder still, and here I am 
Wadin' the ford below the dam — 
The worter chucklin' round my knee 

At hornet-welt and bramble-scratch, 
And me a-slippin' 'crost to see 

Ef Tyner's plums is ripe, and size 
The old man's wortermelon-patch, 

With juicy mouth and drouthy eyes. 
Then, after si'ch a day of mirth 
And happiness as worlds is wurth — 



23 



A SUM Mi: R S DAY 

So tired that heaven seems nigh about. 
The sweetest tiredness on earth 

Is to git home and flatten out — 
So tired you can't lay flat enugh, 
And sorto' wish that you could spred 
Out like molasses on the bed, 
And jest drip off the aidges in 
The dreams that never comes again. 




24 




H 



AN OLD FRIEND 

EY, Old Midsummer ! are you here again, 
With all your harvest-store of olden joys, 



Vast overhanging meadow-lands of rain, 

And drowsy dawns, and noons when golden grain 

Nods in the sun, and lazy truant boys 
Drift ever listlessly adown the day, 
Too full of joy to rest, and dreams to play. 



25 



A.\ OLD FRIEND 

The same old Summer, with the same old smile 
Beaming upon us in the same old way 

We knew in childhood! Though a weary while 

Since that far time, yet memories reconcile 
The heart with odorous breaths of clover-hay ; 

And again I hear the doves, and the sun streams 
through 

The old barn-door just as it used to do. 



And so it seems like welcoming a friend — 

An old, old friend, upon his coming home 
From some far country — coming home to spend 
Long, loitering days with me : And I extend 

My hand in rapturous glee : — And so you've 
come ! — 
Ho, I'm so glad ! Come in and take a chair : 
Well, this is just like old times, I declare ! 





McFEETERS' FOURTH 

IT was needless to say 'twas a glorious clay, 
And to boast of it all in that spread-eagle way 
That our Forefathers had since the hour of the birth 
Of this most patriotic republic on earth! 
But 'twas justice, of course, to admit that the sight 
Of the old Stars-and-Stripes was a thing of delight 
In the eyes of a fellow, however he tried 
To look on the day with a dignified pride 
That meant not to brook any turbulent glee 
Or riotous flourish of loud jubilee ! 



27 



Mc FEETERS FOURTH 

So argued McFeeters, all grim and severe. 

Who the long night before, with a feeling of fear, 

J lad slumbered but fitfully, hearing the swish 

Of the sky-rocket over his roof, with the wish 

That the boy-fiend who fired it were fast to the end 

Of the stick to for ever and ever ascend ! 

Or to hopelessly ask why the boy with the horn 

And its horrible havoc had ever been born ! 

Or to wish, in his wakefulness, staring aghast, 

That this Fourth of July were as dead as the last ! 

So, yesterday morning, McFeeters arose, 

With a fire in his eyes, and a cold in his nose, 

And a guttural voice in appropriate key 

With a temper as grufl as a temper could be. 

He growled at the servant he met on the stair, 

Because he was whistling a national air, 

And he growled at the maid on the balcony, who 

Stood enrapt with the tune of "The Red-White-and- 

Blue" 
That a band was discoursing like mad in the street, 
With drumsticks that banged, and with cymbals that 

beat. 



28 




.•■■■: ' ■';".;ffh 





MC FEETERS' FOURTH 

And he growled at his wife, as she buttoned his vest, 
And applausively pinned a rosette on his breast 
Of the national colors, and lured from his purse 
Some change for the boys — for fire-crackers — or 

worse ; 
And she pointed with pride to a soldier in blue 
In a frame on the wall, and the colors there, too ; 
And he felt, as he looked on the features, the glow 
The painter found there twenty long years ago, 
And a passionate thrill in his breast, as he felt 
Instinctively round for the sword in his belt. 

What was it that hung like a mist o'er the room ? — 

The tumult without — and the music — the boom 

Of the cannon — the blare of the bugle and fife? — 

No matter ! — McFeeters was kissing his wife, 

And laughing and crying and waving his hat 

Like a genuine soldier, and crazy, at that ! 

— Was it needless to say 'twas a glorious day 

And to boast of it all in that spread-eagle way 

That our Forefathers had since the hour of the birth 

Of this most patriotic republic on earth? 





WHEN JUNE IS HERE 

WHEN June is here — what art have we to sing 
The whiteness of the lilies midst the green 

On noon-tranced lawns ? Or flash of roses seen 
Like redbirds' wings? Or earliest ripening 
Prince-Harvest apples, where the cloyed bees cling 

Round winey juices oozing down between 

The peckings of the robin, while we lean 
In under-grasses, lost in marveling? 

Or the cool term of morning, and the stir 
Of odorous breaths from wood and meadow walks. 

The bobwhite's liquid yodel, and the whir 
Of sudden flight; and, where the milkmaid talks 
Across the bars, on tilted barley-stalks 

The dewdrops' glint in webs of gossamer ? 



32 




THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED 
FARMER 

THE summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' 
locus' trees ; 
And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees, 
And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on 

the sly, 
Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly. 
The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his 

wings 
And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings; 
And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz, 
And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is. 



33 



THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER 

You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up 

the plow — 
Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not 

a-carin' how ; 
So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the 

wing — 
But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing: 
And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy 

rest, 
She's as full of tribbelalion as a yeller-jacket's nest; 
And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shin- 

in' right, 
Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite ! 

They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, 
And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, 
And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is 

greener still ; 
It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. 
Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded 

out, 
And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without 

doubt ; 
But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, 
Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet ! 

34 








rs* 



THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER 

Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and 
dry 

Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the 
sky? 

Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way, 

Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day ? 

Is the chipmuck's health a-failin' ? — Does he walk, er 
does he run ? 

Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like 
they've alius done? 

Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er 
voice ? 

Ort a mortul be complainin' when dumb animals re- 
joice ? 

Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot ; 
The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining 

hot. 
Oh ! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, 
And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away ! 
Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, 
Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied ; 
Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, 
And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me 

and you. 

37 




THE SHOWER 

THE landscape, like the awed face of a child, 
Grew curiously blurred ; a hush of death 
Fell on the fields, and in the darkened wild 
The zephyr held its breath. 



No wavering glamour-work of light and shade 
Dappled the shivering surface of the brook ; 

The frightened ripples in their ambuscade 
Of willows thrilled and shook. 



THE SHOWER 

The sullen day grew darker, and anon 
Dim flashes of pent anger lit the sky ; 

With rumbling wheels of wrath came rolling on 
The storm's artillery. 

The cloud above put on its blackest frown, 
And then, as with a vengeful cry of pain, 

The lightning snatched it, ripped and flung it down 
In ravelled shreds of rain : 

While I, transfigured by some wondrous art, 
Bowed with the thirsty lilies to the sod, 

My empty soul brimmed over, and my heart 
Drenched with the love of God. 





39 




TO LOLL BACK IN A MISTY HAMMOCK 

TO loll back, in a misty hammock, swung 
From tip to tip of a slim crescent moon 

That gems some royal-purple night of June — 
To dream of songs that never have been sung 
Since the first stars were stilled and God was young 

And heaven as lonesome as a lonesome tune : 

To lie thus, lost to earth, with lids aswoon ; 
By curious, cool winds back and forward flung, 

With fluttering hair, blurred eyes, and utter ease 
Adrift like lazy blood through every vein ; 

And then, — the pulse of unvoiced melodies 
Timing the raptured sense to some refrain 

That knows nor words, nor rhymes, nor euphonies, 

Save Fancy's hinted chime of unknown seas. 



40 




o 



ON THE BANKS O' DEER CRICK 
N the banks o' Deer Crick ! There's the place fer 



me i — 

Worter slidin' past ye jes as clair as it kin be : — 
See yer shadder in it, and the shadder o' the sky, 
And the shadder o' the buzzard as he goes a-lazein' by ; 
Shadder o' the pizen-vines, and shadder o' the trees — 
And I purt'-nigh said the shadder o' the sunshine and 

the breeze! 
Well — I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the sea : 
On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me ! 



41 



OX THE BANKS O' DEER CRICK 

On the banks o' Deer Crick — mild er two from town — 
'Long up where the mill-race comes a-loafin' clown, — 
Like to git up in there — 'mongst the sycamores — 
And watch the worter at the dam, a-frothin' as she 

pours : 
Crawl out on some old log, with my hook and line, 
Where the fish is jes so thick, you kin see 'em shine 
As they flicker round yer bait, coaxin' you to jerk, 
Tel yer tired ketchin' of 'em, mighty nigh, as work! 

On the banks o' Deer Crick ! — Alius my delight 
Jes to be around there — take it day er night ! — 
Watch the snipes and killdees foolin' half the day — 
Er these-'ere little worter-bugs skootin' ever' way! — ■ 
Snakefeeders glancin' round, er dartin' out o' sight; 
And dew-fall, and bullfrogs, and lightnin'-bugs at 

night — 
Stars up through the tree-tops — er in the crick be- 
low, — 
And smell o' mussrat through the dark clean from the 
old b'v-o ! 



42 




* 




ON THE BANKS O' DEER CRICK 

Er take a tromp, some Sund'y, say, 'way up to "John- 
son's Hole," 
And find where he's had a fire, and hid his fishin'-pole : 
Have yer "dog-leg" with ye and yer pipe and "cut-and- 

dry"— 
Pocketful o' corn-bred, and slug er two o' rye, — 
Soak yer hide in sunshine and waller in the shade — 
Like the Good Book tells us — "where there' re none 

to make afraid !" 
Well! — I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the 

sea — 
On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me ! 




45 




THE LITTLE RED RIBBON 

T^HE little red ribbon, the ring and the rose! 
A The summertime comes and the summertime 

goes — 
And never a blossom in all of the land 
As white as the gleam of her beckoning hand ! 

The long winter months, and the glare of the snows ; 
The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose! 
And never a glimmer of sun in the skies 
As bright as the light of her glorious eyes ! 

Dreams only are true; but they fade and are gone — 
For her face is not here when I waken at dawn ; 
The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose 
Mine only; hers only the dream and repose. 

I am weary of waiting, and weary of tears, 
And my heart wearies, too, all these desolate years, 
Moaning over the one only song that it knows, — 
The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose ! 



4 6 




AUGUST 

A DAY of torpor in the sullen heat 
Of Summer's passion : In the sluggish stream 
The panting cattle lave their lazy feet, 
With drowsy eyes, and dream. 

Long since the winds have died, and in the sky 
There lives no cloud to hint of Nature's grief; 

The sun glares ever like an evil eye, 
And withers flower and leaf. 



49 



AUGUST 

Upon the gleaming harvest-field remote 
The thresher lies deserted, like some old 

Dismantled galleon that hangs afloat 
Upon a sea of gold. 

The yearning cry of some bewildered bird 
Above an empty nest, and truant boys 

Along the river's shady margin heard — 
A harmony of noise — 

A melody of wrangling voices blent 

With liquid laughter, and with rippling calls 

Of piping lips and thrilling echoes sent 
To mimic waterfalls. 

And through the hazy veil the atmosphere 
Has draped about the gleaming face of Day, 

The sifted glances of the sun appear 
In splinterings of spray. 

The dusty highway, like a cloud of dawn, 
Trails o'er the hillside, and the passer-by, 

A tired ghost in misty shroud, toils on 
His journey to the sky. 



;o 



AUGUST 

And down across the valley's drooping sweep, 
Withdrawn to farthest limit of the glade, 

The forest stands in silence, drinking deep 
Its purple wine of shade. 

The gossamer floats up on phantom wing; 

The sailor-vision voyages the skies 
And carries into chaos everything 

That freights the weary eyes : 

Till, throbbing on and on, the pulse of heat 
Increases — reaches — passes fever's height, 

And Day sinks into slumber, cool and sweet, 
Within the arms of Night. 





5i 







IN THE SOUTH 

THERE is a princess in the South 
About whose beauty rumors hum 
Like honey-bees about the mouth 
Of roses dewdrops falter from; 
And O her hair is like the fine 
Clear amber of a jostled wine 
In tropic revels ; and her eyes 
Are blue as rifts of Paradise. 



52 



IN THE SOUTH 

Such beauty as may none before 

Kneel daringly, to kiss the tips 
Of fingers such as knights of yore 
Had died to lift against their lips : 
Such eyes as might the eyes of gold 
Of all the stars of night behold 
With glittering envy, and so glare 
In dazzling splendor of despair. 

So, were I but a minstrel, deft 

At weaving, with the trembling strings 
Of my glad harp, the warp and weft 
Of rondels such as rapture sings, — 
I'd loop my lyre across my breast, 
Nor stay me till my knee found rest 
In midnight banks of bud and flower 
Beneath my lady's lattice-bower. 

And there, drenched with the teary dews, 

I'd woo her with such wondrous art 
As well might stanch the songs that ooze 
Out of the mockbird's breaking heart; 
So light, so tender, and so sweet 
Should be the words I would repeat, 
Her casement, on my gradual sight, 
Would blossom as a lily might. 

53 



THEM FLOWERS 

TAKE, a feller 'at's sick and laid up on the shelf, 
All shaky, and ga'nted, and pore — 
Jes all so knocked out he can't handle hisself 

With a stiff upper-lip any more; 
Shet him up all alone in the gloom of a room 

As dark as the tomb, and as grim, 
And then take and send him some roses in bloom, 
And you can have fun out o' him ! 

You've ketched him 'fore now — when his liver was 
sound 

And his appetite notched like a saw — 
A-mockin' you, mayby, fer romancin' round 

With a big posy-bunch in yer paw ; 
But you ketch him, say, when his health is away, 

And he's flat on his back in distress, 
And then you kin trot out yer little bokay 

And not be insulted, I guess ! 

You see, it's like this, what his weaknesses is, — 

Them flowers makes him think of the days 
Of his innocent youth, and that mother o' his, 

And the roses that she us't to raise : — 
So here, all alone with the roses you send — 

Bern' sick and all trimbly and faint, — 
My eyes is — my eyes is — my eyes is — old friend — 

Is a-leakin' — I'm blamed ef they ain't ! 



54 




LAUGHING SONG 

SING us something full of laughter ; 
Tune your harp, and twang the strings 
Till your glad voice, chirping after, 
Mates the song the robin sings : 
Loose your lips and let them flutter 

Like the wings of wanton birds, — 
Though they naught but laughter utter, 
Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. 



57 



LAUGHING SONG 

Sing in ringing tones that mingle 

Tn a melody that flings 
Joyous echoes in a jingle 

Sweeter than the minstrel sings : 
Sing of Winter, Spring or Summer, 

Clang of war, or low of herds; 
Trill of cricket, roll of drummer — 

Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. 



Like the lisping laughter glancing 

From the meadow brooks and springs, 
Or the river's ripples dancing 

To the tune the current sings — 
Sing of Now, and the Hereafter; 

Let your glad song, like the birds', 
Overflow with limpid laughter — 

Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. 





DOWN AROUND THE RIVER 

NOON-TIME an' June-time, clown around the 
river ! 
Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann — but lawzy ! I fergive 

her ! 
Drives me off the place, an' says 'at all 'at she's a-wish- 

in', 
Land o' gracious ! time'll come I'll git enough o' fishin' ! 
Little Dave, a-choppin' wood, never 'pears to notice; 
Don't know where she's hid his hat, er keerin' where 

his coat is, — 
Specalatin', more'n like, he hain't a-goin' to mind me, 
An' guessin' where, say twelve o'clock, a feller'd likely 

find me ! 



59 



DOWN AROUND THE RIVER 

Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river ! 
Clean out o' sight o' home, an' skulkin' under kivver 
Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, an' swamp-ash an' el- 

lum — 
Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell 'em ! — 
Tired, you know, but lovin it, an' smilin' jes' to think 

'at 
Any szveeter tiredness you'd fairly want to drink it ! 
Tired o' fishin' — tired o' fun — line out slack an' 

slacker — 
All you want in all the world's a little more tobacker! 

Hungry, but a-hidin it, er jes' a-not a-keerin : — 
King-fisher gittin' up an' skootin' out o' hearin' ; 
Snipes on the t'other side, where the County Ditch is, 
Wadin' up an' down the aidge like they'd rolled their 

britches ! 
Old turkle on the root kindo'-sorto' drappin' 
Intoo th' worter like he don't know how it happen ! 
Worter, shade an' all so mixed, don't know which 

you'd orter 
Say : th' worter in the shadder — shadder in the worter! 



60 



DOWN AROUND THE RIVER 

Somebody hollerin' — 'way around the bend in 
Upper Fork — where yer eye kin jes' ketch the endin' 
Of the shiney wedge o' wake some muss-rat's a-makin' 
With that pesky nose o' his ! Then a sniff o' bacon, 
Corn-bred an' 'dock-greens — an' little Dave a-shinnin' 
'Crost the rocks an' mussel-shells, a-limpin' an' a-grin- 

nin', 
With yer dinner fer ye, an' a blessin' from the giver. 
Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river ! 




63 




POMONA 

OH, the golden afternoon ! — 
Like a ripened summer day 
That had fallen oversoon 

In the weedy orchard-way — 
As an apple, ripe in June. 



He had left his fishrod leant 
O'er the footlog by the spring — 

Clomb the hill-path's high ascent, 
Whence a voice, clown showering, 

Lured him, wondering as he went. 

6 4 



POMONA 

Not the voice of bee nor bird, 
Nay, nor voice of man nor child, 

Nor the creek's shoal-alto heard 

Blent with warblings sweet and wild 

Of the midst ream, music-stirred. 

'Twas a goddess ! As the air 
Swirled to eddying silence, he 

Glimpsed about him, half aware 
Of some subtle sorcery 

Woven round him everywhere. 

Suavest slopes of pleasaunce, sown 
With long lines of fruited trees 

Weighed o'er grasses all unmown 
But by scy things of the breeze 

In prone swaths that flashed and shone 

Like silk locks of Faunus sleeked 
This, that way, and contrawise, 

Thro' whose bredes ambrosial leaked 
Oily amber sheens and dyes, 

Starred with petals purple-freaked. 



65 



POMONA 

Here the bellflower swayed and swung, 
Greenly bel fried high amid 

Thick leaves in whose covert sung 
Hermit-thrush, or katydid, 

Or the glowworm nightly clung. 

Here the damson, peach and pear ; 

There the plum, in Tyrian tints, 
Like great grapes in clusters rare ; 

And the metal-heavy quince 
Like a plummet dangled there. 

All ethereal, yet all 

Most material, — a theme 
Of some fabled festival — 

Save the fair face of his dream 
Smiling o'er the orchard wall. 





ME AND MARY 

ALL my feelin's in the Spring 
Gits so blame contrary, 
I can't think of anything 

Only me and Mary ! 
"Me and Mary !" all the time, 
"Me and Mary !" like a rhyme, 
Keeps a-dingin' on till I'm 
Sick o' "Me and Mary!" 



67 



ME AND MARY 

"Me and Mary! Ef us two 

Only was together — 
Playin' like we used to do 

In the Aprile weather !" 
All the night and all the day 
I keep wishin' thataway 
Till I'm gittin' old and gray 

Jes on "Me and Mary!" 

Muddy yit along the pike 
Sence the Winter's freezing 

And the orchard's back'ard-like 
Bloomin' out this season ; 

Only heerd one bluebird yit — 

Nary robin ner tomtit; 

What's the how and why of it? 
'Spect it's "Me and Mary!" 

Me and Mary liked the birds — 

That is, Mary sorto' 
Liked 'em first, and afterwards, 

W'y, I thought Yd ort'o. 
And them birds — ef Mary stood 
Right here with me, like she should— 
They'd be singin', them birds would, 

All fer me and Mary. 
68 






«1 





ME AND MARY 

Birds er not, I'm hopin' some 

I can git to plowin' ! 
Ef the sun'll only come, 

And the Lord allowing 
Guess to-morry I'll turn in 
And git down to work ag'in ; 
This here loaferin' won't win, 

Not fer me and Mary ! 



Fer a man that loves, like me, 

And's afeard to name it. 
Till some other feller, he 

Gits the girl — dad-shame-it ! 
Wet er dry, er clouds er sun — 
Winter gone er jes begun — 
Outdoor work fer me er none, 
No more "Me and Mary !" 




7i 




A GLIMPSE OF PAN 

I CAUGHT but a glimpse of him. Summer was here, 
And I strayed from the town and its dust and heat 
And walked in a wood, while the noon was near, 
Where the shadows were cool, and the atmosphere 

Was misty with fragrances stirred by my feet 
From surges of blossoms that billowed sheer 
O'er the grasses, green and sweet. 



72 



A GLIMPSE OF PAN 

And I peered through a vista of leaning trees, 
Tressed with long tangles of vines that swept 

To the face of a river, that answered these 

With vines in the wave like the vines in the breeze, 
Till the yearning lips of the ripples crept 

And kissed them, with quavering ecstasies, 
And gurgled and laughed and wept. 

And there, like a dream in a swoon, I swear 
I saw Pan lying, — his limbs in the dew 

And the shade, and his face in the dazzle and glare 

Of the glad sunshine; while everywhere, 
Over, across, and around him blew 

Filmy dragonflies hither and there, 

And little white butterflies, two and two, 
In eddies of odorous air. 




73 




THE CIRCUS PARADE 



THE Circus!— The Circus!— The throb of the 
drums. 
And the blare of the horns, as the Band-wagon comes ; 
The clash and the clang of the cymbals that beat. 
As the glittering pageant winds down the long street! 

In the Circus parade there is glory clean down 
From the first spangled horse to the mule of the Clown, 
With the gleam and the glint and the glamour and 

glare 
Of the days of enchantment all glimmering there ! 



74 




■••'■ 






* ' t ■■-■■: '!,:■'■■:'■:■■ 



THE CIRCUS PARADE 

And there are the banners of silvery fold 
Caressing the winds with their fringes of gold, 
And their high-lifted standards, with spear-tips aglow, 
And the helmeted knights that go riding below. 

There's the Chariot, wrought of some marvelous shell 
The Sea gave to Neptune^ first washing it well 
With its fabulous waters of gold, till it gleams 
Like the galleon rare of an Argonaut's dreams. 

And the Elephant, too, (with his undulant stride 
That rocks the high throne of a king in his pride), 
That in jungles of India shook from his flanks 
The tigers that leapt from the Jujubee-banks. 

Here's the long, ever-changing, mysterious line 
Of the Cages, with hints of their glories divine 
From the barred little windows, cut high in the rear, 
Where the close-hidden animals' noses appear. 

Here's the Pyramid-car, with its splendor and flash, 
And the Goddess on high, in a hot-scarlet sash 
And a pen-wiper skirt ! — O, the rarest of sights 
Is this "Queen of the Air" in cerulean tights ! 



77 



THE CIRCUS PARADE 

Then the far-away clash of the cymbals, rind then 
The swoon of the tune ere it wakens again 
With the capering tones of the gallant cornet 
That go dancing- away in a mad minuet. 

The Circus ! — The Circus ! — The throb of the drums, 
And the blare of the horns, as the Band-wagon comes; 
The clash and the clang, of the cymbals that beat, 
As the glittering pageant winds down the long street. 





A VOICE FROM THE FARM 

I T is my dream to have you here with me, 
*■ Out of the heated city's dust and din — 

Here where the colts have room to gambol in, 
And kine to graze, in clover to the knee. 
I want to see your wan face happily 

Lit with the wholesome smiles that have not been 
In use since the old games you used to win 
When we pitched horseshoes : And I want to be 
At utter loaf with you in this dim land 

Of grove and meadow, while the crickets make 
Our own talk tedious, and the bat wields 
His bulky flight, as we cease converse and 
In a dusk like velvet smoothly take 

Our way toward home across the dewy fields. 



79 




A WRAITH OF SUMMERTIME 

IN its color, shade and shine, 
'Twas a summer warm as wine, 
With an effervescent flavoring of flowered 

bough and vine, 
And' a fragrance and a taste 
Of ripe roses gone to waste, 
And a dreamy sense of sun- and moon- and 
star-light interlaced. 



80 



A WRAITH OF SUMMERTIME 

'Twas a summer such as broods 

O'er enchanted solitudes, 

Where the hand of Fancy leads us through 

voluptuary moods, 
And with lavish love out-pours 
All the wealth of out-of-doors, 
And woos our feet o'er velvet paths and 

honeysuckle floors. 

'Twas a summertime long dead, — 

And its roses, white and red, 

And its reeds and water-lilies down along the 

river-bed, — 
O, they all are ghostly things — 
For the ripple never sings, 
And the rocking lily never even rustles as it 

rings ! 




81 




AT NINETY IN THE SHADE 



HOT weather? Yes; but really not, 
Compared with weather twice as hot. 
Find comfort, then, in arguing thus, 
And you'll pull through victorious ! — 
For instance, while you gasp and pant 
And try to cool yourself — and can't — 
With soda, cream and lemonade, 
The heat at ninety in the shade, — 
Just calmly sit and ponder o'er 
These same degrees, with ninety more 
On top of them, and so concede 
The weather now is cool indeed ! 






82 



AT NINETY IN THE SHADE 

Think — as the perspiration clews 
Your fevered brow, and seems to ooze 
From out the ends of every hair — 
Whole floods of it, with floods to spare- 
Think, I repeat, the while the sweat 
Pours down your spine — how hotter yet 
Just ninety more degrees would be, 
And bear this ninety patiently! 
Think — as you mop your brow and hair, 
With sticky feelings everywhere — 
How ninety more degrees increase 
Of heat like this would start the grease ; 
Or, think, as you exhausted stand, 
A wilted "palmleaf" in each hand — 
When the thermometer has done 
With ease the lap of ninety-one ; 
O, think, I say, what heat might do 
At one hundred and eighty-two — 
Just twice the heat you now declare, 
Complaining! y, is hard to bear. 
Or, as you watch the mercury 
Mount, still elate, one more degree, 
And doff your collar and cravat, 
And rig a sponge up in your hat, 



85 



AT NINETY IX THE SHADE 

And ask Tom, Harry, Dick or Jim. 
If this is hot enough for him — 

Consider how the sun would pour 
At one hundred and eighty-four — 
Just twice the heat that seems to be 
Affecting you unpleasantly, 
The very hour that you might find 
As cool as dew, were you inclined. 
But why proceed when none will heed 
Advice apportioned to the need ? 
Hot weather? Yes; but really not. 
Compared with weather twice as hot ! 




86 




THE TREE-TOAD 

SCUR'OUS-LIKE," said the tree-toad, 
"I've twittered fer rain all day; 
And I got up soon, 
And hollered tel noon — 
But the sun, hit blazed away, 

Tel I jest dumb down in a crawfish-hole, 
Weary at hart, and sick at soul ! 

"Dozed away fer an hour, 

And I tackled the thing agin : 

And I sung, and sung, 

Tel I knowed my lung 
Was jest about give in ; 

And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now, 

They's nothin' in skgin', anyhow ! 



87 



THE TREE-TOAD 



"Onc't in a while sonic farmer 
Would come a-drivin' past; 

And he'd hear my cry, 

And stop and sigh — 
Tel I jest laid back, at last, 

And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat 

Would bust wide open at ever' note ! 

"But I fetched her!— O, / fetched her — 
'Cause a little while ago, 

As I kindo' set, 

With one eye shet, 
And a-singin' soft and low, 

A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, 

A-sayin', — 'Ef you 11 jest hush I'll rain? " 





IN SWIMMING-TIME 

CLOUDS above, as white as wool, 
Drifting over skies as blue 
As the eyes of beautiful 

Children when they smile at you : 
Groves of maple, elm and beech, 

With the sunshine sifted through 
Branches, mingling each with each, 
Dim with shade and bright with dew 

Stripling trees, and poplars hoar, 
Hickory and sycamore, 
And the drowsy dogwood, bowed 
Where the ripples laugh aloud, 
And the crooning creek is stirred 

To a gaiety that now 
Mates the warble of the bird, 

Teetering on the hazel-bough. 



8 9 



IN SWIMMING-TIME 

Grasses long and fine and fair 

As your schoolboy-sweetheart's hair 

Backward stroked and twirled and twined 

By the fingers of the wind : 

Vines and mosses interlinked 

Down dark aisles and deep ravines, 
Where the stream runs, willow-brinked, 

Round a bend where some one leans, 
Faint, and vague, and indistinct 

As the like-reflected thing 

In the current shimmering. 

Childish voices, further on, 
Where the truant stream has gone, 
Vex the echoes of the wood 
Till no word is understood — 
Save that we are well aware 
Happiness is hiding there : — 
There, in leafy coverts, nude 

Little bodies poise and leap, 
Spattering the solitude 
And the silence, everywhere — 

Mimic monsters of the deep ! — 



90 



IN SWIMMING-TIME 

Wallowing in sandy shoals — 
Plunging headlong out of sight, 
And, with spurtings of delight, 

Clutching hands, and slippery soles, 
Climbing up the treacherous steep, 

Over which the spring-board spurns 

Each again as he returns ! 

Ah ! the glorious carnival ! 

Purple lips — and chattering teeth- 
Eyes that burn — But, in beneath, 

Every care beyond recall — 
Every task forgotten quite — 
And again in dreams at night, 

Dropping, drifting through it all ! 




93 



LULLABY 

TI 1 E maple strews the embers of its leaves 
O'er the laggard swallows nestled 'neath the 
eaves ; 
And the moody cricket falters in his cry — Baby-bye ! 
And the lid of night is falling o'er the sky — Baby- 
bye ! — 
The lid of night is falling o'er the sky! 



The rose is lying pallid, and the cup 

Of the frosted ealla-lily folded up ; 

And the breezes through the garden sob and sigh — 

Baby-bye ! — 
O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie — 

Baby-bye ! — 
O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie ! 

Yet, Baby — O my Baby, for your sake 

This heart of mine is ever wide awake, 

And my love may never droop a drowsy eye — Baby- 
bye ! — 

Till your own are wet above me when I die — Baby- 
bye ! — 
Till your own are wet above me when I die. 



94 




>"■•■• 



1 





THE FISHING PARTY 

WUNST we went a-nshin'— Me 
An' my Pa an' Ma all three, 
When they was a pic-nic, 'way 
Out to Hanch's woods, one day. 

An' they was a crick out there, 
Where the fishes is, an' where 
Little boys 'taint big an' strong, 
Better have their folks along ! 



97 



THE FISHING PARTY 

My Pa he ist fished an' fished! 
An' my Ma she said she wished 
Me an' her was home; an' Pa 
Said he wished so worse n Ma. 

Pa said ef you talk, er say 
Anything, er sneeze, er play, 
Hain't no fish, alive er dead, 
Ever go' to bite! he said. 

Purt' nigh dark in town when we 
Got back home ; an' Ma says she, 
Now she'll have a fish fer shore ! 
An' she buyed one at the store. 

Nen at supper, Pa he won't 
Eat no fish, an' says he don't 
Like 'em. — An' he pounded me 
When I choked! . . . Ma, didn't he? 




98 



t 7 



WHILE THE MUSICIAN PLAYED 

OIT was but a dream I had 
While the musician played ! — 
And here the sky, and here the glad 

Old ocean kissed the glade — 
And here the laughing ripples ran, 

And here the roses grew 
That threw a kiss to every man 
That voyaged with the crew. 

Our silken sails in lazy folds 

Drooped in the breathless breeze : 
As o'er a field of marigolds 

Our eyes swam o'er the seas ; 
While here the eddies lisped and purled 

Around the island's rim, 
And up from out the underworld 

We saw the mermen swim. 



IOI 



Will KM THE MUSICIAN PLAYED 



And it was dawn and middle-day 



And midnierht- for ih 



e moon 



On silver rounds across the bay 
Had climbed the skies of June — 

And there the glowing, glorious king 
Of day ruled o'er his realm. 

With stars of midnight glittering 
About his diadem. 

The seagull reeled on languid wing 

In circles round the mast, 
We heard the songs the sirens sing 

As we went sailing past ; 
And up and down the golden sands 

A thousand fairy throngs 
Flung at us from their flashing hands 

The echoes of their songs. 

O, it was but a dream I had 

While the musician played — 
For here the sky, and here the glad 

Old ocean kissed the glade; 
And here the laughing ripples ran, 

And here the roses grew 
That threw a kiss to every man 

That voyaged with the crew. 

1 02 






HOOSIER SPRING-POETRY 

WHEN ever'thing's a-goin' like she's got-a-gom* 
now, — 
The maple-sap a-drippin', and the buds on ever' bough 
A-sorto' reachin' up'ards all a-trimblin', ever' one, 
Like 'bout a million brownie-fists a-shakin' at the sun ! 
The childern wants their shoes off 'fore their breakfast, 

and the Spring 
Is here so good-and-plenty that the old hen has to 

sing ! — 
When things is go-in' thisaway, w'y, that's the sign, 

you know, 
That ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go ! 

Oh, ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go ! 

Old Winter's up and dusted, with his dratted frost and 
snow — 

The ice is out the crick ag'in, the freeze is out the 
ground, 

And you'll see faces thawin' too ef you'll jes look- 
around ! — 



103 



HOOSIER SPRING-POETRY 

The bluebird's landin' home ag'in, and glad to git the 

chance, 

'Cause here's where he belongs at, that's a settled cir- 
cumstance ! 

And him and mister robin now's a-chunin' fer the 
show. 

Oh, ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go ! 

The sun ain't jes p'tendin' now! — The ba'm is in the 

breeze — 
The trees'll soon be green as grass, and grass as green 

as trees ; 
The buds is all jes ccclrin', and the dogwood down 

the run 
Is bound to bust out laughin' 'fore another week is 

done ; 
The bees is wakin', gap'y-like, and fumblin' fer their 

buzz, 
A-thinkin', ever-wakefuler, of other days that wuz, — 
When all the land wuz orchard-blooms and clover, 

don't you know. . . . 
Oh, ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go ! 



104 



-. 




PANSIES 

PANSIES ! Pansies ! How I love you, pansies ! 
Jaunty-faced, laughing-lipped and dewy-eyed 
with glee ; 
Would my song but blossom in little five-leaf stanzas 
As delicate in fancies 
As your beauty is to me ! 

But my eyes shall smile on you, and my hands infold 
you, 
Pet, caress, and lift you to the lips that love you so, 
That, shut ever in the years that may mildew or mould 
you, 

My fancy shall behold you 
Fair as in the long ago. 



107 




KNEE-DEEP IN TUNE 



TELL you what I like the best — 
'Long about knee-deep in June, 
'Bout the time strawberries melts 
On the vine, — some afternoon 
Like to jes' git out and rest, 

And not work at nothin' else ! 

II 

Orchard's where I'd ruther be — 
Needn't fence it in fer me ! — 

Jes' the whole sky overhead, 
And the whole airth underneath — 
Sorto' so's a man kin breathe 
Like he ort, and kindo' has 
Elbow-room to keerlessly 

Sprawl out len'thways on the grass 
Where the shadders thick and soft 
• As the kivvers on the bed 
Mother fixes in the loft 
Alius, when they's company ! 

1 08 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 
III 

Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there — 

S'lazy 'at you peek and peer 

Through the wavin' leaves above. 
Like a feller 'at's in love 

And don't know it, ner don't keer ! 

Ever'thing you hear and see 
Got some sort o' interest — 
Maybe find a bluebird's nest 

Tuckedi up there conveenently 

Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be 

Up some other apple-tree ! 
Watch the swallers skootin' past 
'Bout as peert as you could ast ; 

Er the Bob-white raise and whizz 

Where some other's whistle is. 

IV 

Ketch a shadder down below, 
And look up to find the crow — 
Er a hawk, — away up there, 
'Pearantly froze in the air ! — 

Hear the old hen squawk, and squat 
Over ever' chick she's got, 

109 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 



Suddent-like ! — and she knows where 
That-air hawk is, well as yon! — 
Yon jes' bet yer life she do! — 
Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, 
Waitih' till he makes a pass ! 



Pee-wees' singing to express 

My opinion, 's second class, 
Yit you'll hear 'em more er less ; 

Sapsncks gittin' down to biz, 
Weedin' out the lonesomeness ; 
Mr. Blnejay, full o' sass, 

In them base-ball clothes o' his, 
Sportin' round the orchard jes' 
Like he owned the premises ! 

Sun out in the fields kin sizz, 
But flat on yer back, I guess. 

In the shade's where glory is ! 
That's jes' what I'd like to do 
Stiddy fer a year er two ! 



no 



£P 






•i.t 



'T-: 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

VI 

Plague ! ef they ain't somepin' in 
Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in' 
My convictions ! — 'long about 
Here in June especially ! — 
Under some old apple-tree, 

Jes' a-restin' through and through, 
I could git along without 

Nothin' else at all to do- 
Only jes' a-wishin' you 
Wuz a-gittin' there like me, 
And June was eternity ! 

VII 

Lay out there and try to see 
Jes' how lazy you kin be ! — 

Tumble round and souse yer head 
In the clover-bloom, er pull 

Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes 
And peek through it at the skies, 
Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead, 
Maybe, smilin' back at you 
In betwixt the beautiful 

Clouds o' gold and white and blue !- 
Month a man kin railly love — 
June, you know, I'm talkin' of! 



KNEE-DEEP IX JUNE 

VIII 

March ain't never nothin' new! — 
Vprile's altogether too 
Brash fer me! and May — I jes' 
'Bominate its promises, — 
Little hints o' sunshine and 
Green around the timber-land — 
A few blossoms, and a few 
Chip-birds, and a sprout er two, — 
Drap asleep, and it turns in 
'Fore daylight and snows ag'in ! — 
But when June comes — Clear my th'oat 

With wild honey ! — Rench my hair 
In the dew ! and hold my coat ! 

Whoop out loud ! and th'ow my hat !- 
June wants me, and I'm to spare ! 
Spread them shadders anywhere, 
I'll git down and waller there, 
And obleeged to you at that ! 





A FULL HARVEST 

SEEMS like a feller'd ort 'o jes' to-day 
Git down and roll and waller, don't you know, 

In that-air stubble, and flop up and crow, 
Seein' sich craps ! I'll undertake to say 
There're no wheat's ever turned out thataway 

Afore this season ! — Folks is keerless tho', 

And too 1 fergitful — 'caze we'd ort 'o show 
More thankfulness! — Jes' looky hyonder, hey? — 

And watch that little reaper wadin' time 
That last old yaller hunk o' harvest-ground — 

Jes' natchur'ly a-slicin' it in-two 
Like honey-comb, and gaumin' it around 

The field — like it had nothin' else to do 

On'y jes' waste it all on me and you ! 



115 



THE CLOVER 

SOME sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose, 
And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime 
throws 
In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays 
Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiney days ; 
But what is the lily and all of the rest 
Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest 
That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew 
Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew ? 

I never set eyes on a clover-field now, 

Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow, 

But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane 

As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again ; 

And I wunder away in a bare-footed dream, 

Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam 

With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love 

Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above. 

And so I love clover — it seems like a part 

Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart; 

And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow 

And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now ; 

And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die, 

To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye, 

And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom 

While my soul slips away on a breth of purfume. 



116 




THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE 

OH ! the old swimmin'-hole ! Whare the crick so still 
and deep 
Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, 
And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below 
Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to 

know 
Before we could remember anything but the eyes 
Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise; 
But the merry days of Youth is beyond our controle, 
And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'- 
hole. 



IIQ 



THE OLD SWIMMIN -HOLE 

Oh ! the old swimmin'-hole ! In the happy days of yore, 
When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore, 
Oh! it showed me a faee in its warm sunny tide 
That gazed back at me so gay and glorified, 
It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress 
My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness. 
But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck 

his toll 
From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole. 

Oh ! the old swimmin'-hole ! In the long, lazy days 
When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a- 
way s, 
How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, 
Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so 

plane 
You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole 
They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'- 
hole. 
But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll 
Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'- 
hole. 
Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall, 
And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all ; 



120 



THE OLD SWIMMIN -HOLE 

And it mottled the worter with amber and gold 
Tel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled ; 
And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by 
Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky, 
Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle, 
As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'- 
hole. 

Oh ! the old swimmin'-hole ! When I last saw the place, 
The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face ; 
The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot 
Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot. 
And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be — 
But never again will theyr shade shelter me ! 
And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul, 
And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole. 







123 



THE ALL-GOLDEN 



THROUGH every happy line I sing 
I feel the tonic of the Spring-. 
The day is like an old-time face 
That gleams across some grassy place 
An old-time face — an old-time chum 
Who rises from the grave to come 
And lure me hack along the ways 
Of time's all-golden yesterdays. 
Sweet day ! to thus remind me of 
The truant boy I used to love — 
To set, once more, his finger-tips 
Against the blossom of his lips, 
And pipe for me the signal known 
By none but him and me alone ! 

II 

I see, across the school-room floor, 
The shadow of the open door, 
And dancing dust and sunshine blent 
Slanting the way the morning went, 
And beckoning my thoughts afar 
Where reeds and running waters are ; 

124 






THE ALL-GOLDEN 

Where amber-colored bayous glass 

The half-drown' d weeds and wisps of grass. 

Where sprawling frogs, in loveless key, 

Sing on and on incessantly. 

Against the green wood's dim expanse 

The cattail tilts its tufted lance, 

While on its tip — one might declare 

The white "snake- feeder" blossomed there! 

. Ill 

I catch my breath as children do* 

In woodland swings when life is new, 

And all the blood is warm as wine 

And tingles with a tang divine. 

My soul soars up the atmosphere 

And sings aloud where God can hear, 

And all my being leans intent 

To mark His smiling wonderment. 

O gracious dream, and gracious time, 

And gracious theme, and gracious rhyme — 

When buds of Spring begin to blow 

In blossoms that we used to know 

And lure us back along the ways 

Of time's all-golden yesterdays ! 




WITH THE CURRENT 

RAREST mood of all the year! 
Aimless, idle, and content — 
Sky and wave and atmosphere 
Wholly indolent. 

Little daughter, loose the band 

From your tresses — let them pour 
Shadow-like o'er arm and hand 
Idling at the oar. 

128 



m 




WITH THE CURRENT 

Low and clear, and pure and deep, 

Ripples of the river sing — 
Water-lilies, half asleep, 

Drowsed with listening : 

Tremulous reflex of skies — 

Skies above and skies below, — 
Paradise and Paradise 
Blending even so ! 

Blossoms with their leaves unrolled 

Laughingly, as they were lips 
Cleft with ruddy beaten gold 
Tongues of pollen-tips. 

Rush and reed, and thorn and vine, 

Clumped with grasses lithe and tall- 
With a web of summer-shine 
Woven round it all. 

Back and forth, and to and fro — 

Flashing scale and wing as one, — 
Dragon-flies that come and go, 
Shuttled by the sun. 

I3i 



WITH THE CURRENT 

Fairy lilts and lullabies, 

Fine as fantasy conceives, — 
Echoes wrought of cricket-cries 
Sifted through the leaves-. 

O'er the rose, with drowsy buzz, 

Hangs the bee, and stays his kiss, 
Even as my fancy does, 
Gypsy, over this. 

Let us both be children — share 

Youth's glad voyage night and day, 
Drift adown it, half aware, 
Anywhere we may. — 

Drift and curve and deviate, 

Veer and eddy, float and flow, 
Waver, swerve and undulate, 
As the bubbles go. 



13- 




OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 

THEY ain't no style about 'em, 
And 1 they're sorto' pale and faded, 
Yit the doorway here, without 'em, 
Would be lonesomer, and shaded 
With a good 'eal blacker shadder 

Than the morning-glories makes, 
And the sunshine would look sadder 
Fer their good old- fashion' sakes. 



33 



OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 

I like 'em 'cause they kindo'- 

Sorto' make a feller like 'em ! 
And I tell you, when I find a 

Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em, 
It alius sets me thinkin' 

O' the ones 'at used to grow 
And peek in thro' the chinkin' 
O' the cabin, don't you know ! 

And then I think o' mother, 

And how she ust to love 'em — 
When they wuzn't any other, 

'Less she found 'em up above 'em ! 
And her eyes, afore she shut 'em, 

Whispered with a smile and said 

We must pick a bunch and putt 'em 

In her hand when she wuz dead. 

But, as I wuz a-sayin', 

They ain't no style about 'em 
Very gaudy er displaying 

But I wouldn't be without 'em, — 
'Cause I'm happier in these posies. 

And the hollyhawks and sich. 
Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses 
In the roses of the rich. 
134 




T 



THE KING 

HEY rode right out of the morning sun- 
A glimmering, glittering cavalcade 
Of knights and ladies and every one 

In princely sheen arrayed ; 
And the king of them all, O he rode ahead. 
With a helmet of gold, and a plume of red 
That spurted about in the breeze and bled 
In the bloom of the everglade. 

And they rode right over the dewy lawn, 
With brave, glad' banners of every hue 
That rolled in ripples, as they rode on 

In splendor, two and two ; 
And the tinkling links of the golden reins 
Of the steeds they rode rang such refrains 
As the castanets in a dream of Spain's 

Intensest gold and blue. 



137 



THE KING 

And they rode and rode; and the steeds they neighed 

And pranced, and the sun on their glossy hides 
Flickered and lightened and glanced and played 

Like the moon on rippling tides ; 
And their manes were silken, and thick and strong, 
And their tails were flossy, and fetlock-long, 
And jostled in time to the teeming throng, 
And their knightly song besides. 

Clank of scabbard and jingle of spur, 

And the fluttering sash of the queen went wild 
In the wind, and the proud king glanced at her 

As one at a wilful child, — 
And as knight and lady away they flew, 
And the banners flapped, and the falcon, too, 
And 1 the lances flashed and the bugle blew, 

He kissed his hand and smiled. — 

And then, like a slanting sunlit shower, 

The pageant glittered across the plain, 
And the turf spun back, and the wildweed flower 

Was only a crimson stain. 
And a dreamer's eyes they are downward cast. 
As he blends these words with the wailing blast : 
"It is the King of the Year rides past!" 

And Autumn is here again. 

138 




SLUMBER-SONG 

SLEEP, little one! The Twilight folds her gloom 
Full tenderly about the drowsy Day, 
And all his tinseled hours of light and bloom 
Like toys are laid away. 

Sleep ! sleep ! The noon-sky's airy cloud of white 

Has deepened wide o'er all the azure plain ; 
And, trailing through the leaves, the skirts of Night 
Are wet with dews as rain. 

But rest thou sweetly, smiling in thy dreams, 

With round fists tossed like roses o'er thy head, 
And thy tranc'd lips and eyelids kissed with gleams 
Of rapture perfected. 



139 



THE YELLOW-BIRD 

HEY ! my little Yellow-bird, 
What you doing there ? 
Like a flashing sun-ray, 
Flitting everywhere : 
Dangling down the tall weeds 

And the hollyhocks, 
And the lordly sunflowers 
Along the garden-walks. 

Ho ! my gallant Golden-bill, 

Pecking 'mongst the weeds, 
You must have for breakfast 

Golden flower-seeds : 
Won't you tell a little fellow 

What you have for tea? — 
'Spect a peck o' yellow, mellow 

Pippin on the tree. 

140 




' ^/'- 




A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

I COME upon it suddenly, alone — 
A little pathway winding in the weeds 
That fringe the roadside ; and with dreams my own, 
I wander as it leads. 

Full wistfully along the slender way, 

Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine, 
I take the path that leads me as it may — 

Its every choice is mine. 

A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail, 

Is startled by my step as on I fare — 
A garter-snake across the dusty trail 

Glances and — is not there. 



143 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos 
And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies, 

Like blooms of lorn primroses blowing loose 
When autumn winds arise. 

The trail dips — dwindles — broadens then, and lifts 
Itself astride a cross-road dubiously, 

And, from the fennel marge beyond it, drifts 
Still onward, beckoning me. 

And though it needs must lure me mile on mile 
Out of the public highway, still I go, 

My thoughts, far in advance in Indian-file, 
Allure me even so. 

Why, I am as a long-lost boy that went 
At dusk to bring the cattle to the bars, 

And was not found again, though Heaven lent 
His mother all the stars 

With which to seek him through that awful night. 

O years of nights as vain ! — Stars never rise 
But well might miss their glitter in the light 

Of tears in mother-eyes ! 



144 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

So — on, with quickened 1 ! breaths, I follow still — 
My avant-courier must be obeyed ! 

Thus am I led, and thus the path, at will, 
Invites me to invade 

A meadow's precincts, where my daring guide 
Clambers the steps of an old-fashioned stile, 

And stumbles down again, the other side, 
To gambol there a while 

In pranks of hide-and-seek, as on ahead 
I see it running, while the clover-stalks 

Shake rosy fists at me as though they said — 
"You dog our country- walks 

"And mutilate us with your walking-stick ! — 
We will not suffer tamely what you do 

And warn you at your peril, — for we'll sic 
Our bumblebees on you !" 

But I smile back, in airy nonchalance, — 

The more determined' on my wayward quest, 

As some bright memory a moment dawns 
A morning in my breast — 



H7 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

lending a thrill that hurries me along 

In faulty similes of childish skips, 
Enthused with lithe contortions of a song 
Performing on my lips. 

In wild meanderings o'er pasture wealth — 
Erratic wanderings through dead ning-lands, 

Where sly old brambles, plucking me by stealth, 
Put berries in my hands : 

Or the path climbs a boulder — wades a slough — 
Or, rollicking through buttercups and flags, 

Goes g'aily dancing o'er a deep bayou 
On old tree-trunks and snags : 

Or, at the creek, leads o'er a limpid pool 
Upon a bridge the stream itself has made, 

With some Spring-freshet for the mighty tool 
That its foundation laid. 

I pause a moment here to bend and muse, 
With dreamy eyes, on my reflection, where 

A boat-backed bug drifts on a helpless cruise, 
Or wildly oars the air, 



148 






A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

As, dimly seen, the pirate of the brook — 

The pike, whose jaunty hulk denotes his speed — 

Swings pivoting about, with wary look 
Of low and cunning greed. 

Till, filled with other thought, I turn again 
To where the pathway enters in a realm 

Of lordly woodland, under sovereign reign 
Of towering oak and elm. 

A puritanic quiet here reviles 

The almost whispered warble from the hedge, 
And takes a locust's rasping voice and files 

The silence to an edge. 

In such a solitude my somber way 

Strays like a misanthrope within a gloom 

Of his own shadows — till the perfect day 
Bursts into sudden bloom, 

And crowns a long*, declining stretch of space, 
Where King Corn's armies lie with flags unfurled, 

And where the valley's dint in Nature's face 
Dimples a smiling world. 



I5i 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 



And lo ! through mists that may not be dispelled. 

I see an old farm homestead, as in dreams, 
Where, like a gem in costly setting held, 

The old loo- cabin fleams. 



O darling Pathway ! lead me bravely on 
Adown your valley-way, and run before 

Among the roses crowding up the lawn 
And thronging at the door, — 

And carry up the echo there that shall 
Arouse the drowsy dog, that he may bay 

The household out to greet the prodigal 
That wanders home to-day. 




m2 




THE BALLADE OF THE COMING RAIN 

WHEN the morning swoons in its highest heat, 
And the sunshine dims, and no dark shade 
Streaks the dust of the dazzling street, 

And the long straw splits in the lemonade; 
When the circus lags in a sad parade, 
And the drum throbs dull as a pulse of pain, 

And the breezeless flags hang limp and frayed — 
O then is the time to look for rain. 



153 



THE BALLADE OF THE COMING RAIN 

When the man on the watering cart bumps by, 

Trilling the air of an old fife-tune, 
With a dull, soiled smile, and one shut eye. 

Lost in a dream of the afternoon; 

When the awning sags like a lank balloon, 
And a thick sweat stands on the window-pane, 

And a five-cent fan is a priceless boon — 
O then is the time to look for rain. 

When the goldfish tank is a grimy gray. 

And the dummy stands at the clothing store 
With a cap pulled on in a rakish way, 

And a rubber-coat with the hind before ; 

When the man in the barber chair flops o'er 
And the chin he wags has a telltale stain. 

And the bootblack lurks at the open door — 
O then is the time to look for rain. 




154 




*m' : 



THE MUSKINGUM VALLEY 

THE Muskingum Valley ! — How longin' the gaze 
A feller throws back on its long summer-clays, 
When the smiles of its blossoms and my smiles wuz 

one- 
And-the-same, from the rise to the set o' the sun : 
Wher' the hills sloped as soft as the dawn down to 

noon, 
And the river run by like an old 1 fiddle-tune, 
And the hours glided past as the bubbles 'ud glide, 
All so loaferin'-like, 'long the path o' the tide. 

In the Muskingum Valley — it 'peared like the skies 
Looked lovin' on me as my own mother's eyes, 
While the laughin'-sad song of the stream seemed to be 
Like a lullaby angels was wastin' on me— 



155 



THE MUSKINGUM VALLEY 

Tel, swimmin' the air, like the gossamer's thread, 
'Twixt the blue underneath and the blue overhead, 
My thoughts went a-stray in that so-to-speak realm 
Wher' Sleep bared her breast as a piller fer them. 

Tn the Muskingum Valley, though far, far a-way, 
I know that the winter is bleak there to-day — 
No bloom ner perfume on the brambles er trees — 
Wher' the buds used to bloom, now the icicles freeze. — 
That the grass is all hid 'long the side of the road 
Wher' the deep snow has drifted and shifted and 

blowed — 
And I feel in my life the same changes is there, — 
The frost in my heart, and the snow in my hair. 

But, Muskingum Valley ! my memory sees 

Not the white on the ground, but the green in the 

trees- — 
Not the froze'-over gorge, but the current, as clear 
And warm as the drop that has jes trickled here; 
Not the choked-up ravine, and the hills topped with 

snow, 
But the grass and the blossoms I knowed long ago 
When my little bare feet wundered clown wher' the 

stream 
In the Muskingum Valley flowed on like a dream. 

'156 




WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE 
TREES 

IN Spring, when the green gits back in the trees, 
And the sun comes out and stays, 
And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, 

And you think of yer bare-foot days ; 
When you ort to work and you want to not, 

And you and yer wife agrees 
It's time to spade up the garden-lot, 

When the green gits back in the trees — 
Well ! work is the least o' my idees 
When the green, you know, gits back in the trees ! 



159 



WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES 

When the green gits back in the trees, and bees 

Is a-buzzin' aroun' ag'in, 
In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please 

Old gait they bum renin' in ; 
When the groun's all bald whare the hay-rick stood, 

And the crick's riz, and the breeze 
Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, 

And the green gits back in the trees, — 
I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, 
The time when the green gits back in the trees ! 

When the whole tail-feathers o' Wintertime 

Is all pulled out and gone ! 
And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, 

And the swet it starts out on 
A feller's forred, a-gittin' down 

At the old spring on his knees — 
I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun' 

When the green gits back in the trees — 
Jest a-potterin' roun' as I — durn — please — 
When the green, you know, gits back in the trees ! 







DAWN, NOON AND DEWFALL 

DAWN, noon and dewfall ! Bluebird and robin 
Up and at it airly, and the orchard-blossoms bob- 
bin' ! 
Peekin' from the winder, half-awake, and wishin' 
I could go to sleep agin as well as go a-fisKin' ! 

On the apern o' the dam, legs a-danglin' over, 
Drowsy-like with sound o' worter and the smell o' 

clover : 
Fish all out a-visitin' — 'cept some dratted minnor ! 
Yes, and mill shet down at last and hands is gone to 

dinner. 

Trompin' home acrost the fields : Lightnin'-bugs 

a-blinkin' 
In the wheat like sparks o' things feller keeps a-think- 

in':— 
Mother waitin' supper, and the childern there to cherr 

me! 
And fiddle on the kitchen-wall a-jist a-eechin' fer me! 



161 



THE OLD HAY-MOW 

THE ( )ld I lay-mow's the place to play 
Fer boys, when it's a rainy clay! 
I good-'eal ruther be up there 
Than clown in town, er anywhere! 

When I play in our stable-loft, 
The good old hay's so dry an* soft, 
An' feels so fine, an' smells so sweet, 
I 'most ferget to go an' eat. 

An' one time wunst I did ferget 

To go 'tel dinner was all et, — ■ 

An' they had short-cake — an' — Bud he 

Hogged up the piece Ma saved fer me ! 

Nen I won't let him play no more 
In our hay-mow where I keep store 
An' got hen-eggs to sell, — an' shoo 
The cackle-un old hen out, too ! 

162 




, 



THE OLD HAY- MOW 

An' nen, when Aunty she was here 
A-visitun from Renssalaer, 
An' bringed my little cousin, — he 
Can come up there an' play with me. 

But, after while — when Bud he bets 
'At I can't turn no summer setts, — 
I let him come up, ef he can 
Ac' ha'f-way like a gentleman! 




165 




A SUDDEN SHOWER 

BAREFOOTED boys scud up the street, 
Or scurry under sheltering sheds; 
And school-girl faces, pale and sweet, 
Gleam from the shawls about their heads. 

Doors bang; and mother-voices call 
From alien homes ; and rusty gates 

Are slammed; and high above it all, 
The thunder grim reverberates. 

And then, abrupt, — the rain ! the rain ! — 
The earth lies gasping ; and the eyes 

Behind the streaming window-pane 
Smile at the trouble of the skies. 

The highway smokes ; sharp echoes ring ; 

The cattle bawl and cow-bells clank ; 
And into town comes galloping 

The farmer's horse, with steaming flank. 



1 66 



A SUDDEN SHOWER 

The swallow dips beneath the eaves, 

And flirts his plumes and folds his wings ; 

And under the catawba leaves 
The caterpillar curls and clings. 

The bumblebee is pelted down 

The wet stem of the hollyhock ; 
And sullenly, in spattered brown, 

The cricket leaps the garden-walk. 

Within, the baby claps his hands 

And crows with rapture strange and vague ; 
Without, beneath the rose-bush stands 

A dripping rooster on one leg. 




169 




A NOON INTERVAL 

A DEEP, delicious hush in earth and sky — 
A gracious lull — since, from its wakening, 

The morn has been a feverish, restless thing 
In which the pulse of Summer ran too high 
And riotous, as though its heart went nigh 

To bursting with delights past uttering : 

Now, as an o'erjoyed child may cease to sing 
All falteringly at play, with drowsy eye 

Draining the pictures of a fairy-tale 
To brim his dreams with — there comes o'er the day 

A loathful silence, wherein all sounds fail 
Like loitering tones of some faint roundelay . . . 

No wakeful effort longer may avail — 
The wand waves, and the dozer sinks away. 



170 



A SONG 

THERE is ever a song somewhere, my dear ; 
There is ever a something sings alway : 
There's the song of the lark when the skies are 
clear, 
And the song of the thrush when the skies are 
gray. 
The sunshine showers across the grain, 

And the bluebird trills in the orchard trees ; 
And in and out, when the eaves drip rain, 
The swallows are twittering ceaselessly. 

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, 

Be the skies above or dark or fair, 
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear — 
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear — 

There is ever a song somewhere ! 

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, 
In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue : 

The robin pipes when the sun is here, 

And the cricket chirrups the whole night through. 



171 



A SONG 

The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow, 
And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear; 

But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow, 
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear. 

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, 

Be the skies above or dark or fair, 
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear — 
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear — 
There is ever a song somewhere ! 




172 



ON THE SUNNY SIDE 

HI and whoop-hooray, boys ! 
Sing a song of cheer ! 
Here's a holiday, boys, 
Lasting half a year ! 
Round the world, and half is 

Shadow we have tried ; 
Now we're where the laugh is,- 
On the sunny side! 

Pigeons coo and mutter, 

Strutting high aloof 
Where the sunbeams flutter 

Through the stable roof. 
Hear the chickens cheep, boys, 

And the hen with pride 
Clucking them to sleep, boys, 

On the sunny side ! 

173 



ON THE SUNNY SIDE 

Hear the clacking guinea ; 

Hear the cattle moo ; 
Hear the horses whinny, 

Looking out at yon ! 
On the hitching-block, boys, 

Grandly satisfied, 
See the old peacock, boys, 

On the sunny side ! 

Robins in the peach-tree ; 

Bluebirds in the pear; 
Blossoms over each tree 

In the orchard there ! 
All the world's in joy, boys, 

Glad and glorified 
As a romping boy, boys, 

On the sunny side ! 

Where's a heart as mellow ? 

Where's a soul as free? 
Where is any fellow 

We would rather be ? 
Just ourselves or none, boys, 

World around and wide, 
Laughing in the sun, boys, 

On the sunny side ! 
174 




I ' 




JUNE 

O QUEENLY month of indolent repose ! 
I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume, 
As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom 
I nestle like a drowsy child and doze 
The lazy hours away. The zephyr throws 
The shifting shuttle of the Summer's loom 
And weaves a damask-work of gleam and gloom 
Before thy listless feet. The lily blows 
A bugle-call of fragrance o'er the glade; 
And, wheeling into ranks, with plume and 
spear, 
Thy harvest-armies gather on parade ; 

While, faint and far away, yet pure and clear, 
A voice calls out of alien lands of shade : — 
All hail the Peerless Goddess of the Year ! 



177 



HE AND 1 

Jl 'ST drifting on together — 
Mc and I— 
As through the balmy weather 
Of July 
Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded 
Each in each — by zephyrs wedded — 
Touring upward, giddy-headed, 
For the sky. 

And, veering- tip and onward, 

Do we seem 
Forever drifting downward 
In a dream. 
Where we meet song-birds that know ns. 
And the winds their kisses blow ns, 
While the years flow far below us 
Like a stream. 

And we are happy — very — 

He and I — 
Aye, even glad and merry 
Though on high 
The heavens are sometimes shrouded 
By the midnight storm, and clouded 
Till the pallid moon is crowded 
From the sky. 
1/8 










f 






HE AND I 

My spirit ne'er expresses 

Any choice 
But to clothe him with caresses 
And rejoice; 
And as he laughs, it is in 
Such a tone the moonbeams glisten 
And the stars come out to listen 
To his voice. 

And so, whate'er the weather, 

He and I, — 
With our lives linked thus together, 
Float and fly 
As two thistle-tufts imbedded 
Each in each — by zephyrs wedded- 
Touring upward, giddy-headed, 
For the sky. 





181 






UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

UP and down old Brandywine, 
In the days 'at's past and gone — 
With a dad-burn hook-and-line 
And a saplin'-pole— -i swan! 

I've had more fun, to the square 
Inch, than ever a //y where ! 
Heaven to come can't discount mine 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 

Hain't no sense in wishin' — yit 

Wisht to goodness I could jes 
"Gee" the blame' world round and git 
Back to that old happiness ! — 
Kindo' drive back in the shade 
"The old Covered Bridge" there laid 
'Crosst the crick, and sorto' soak 
My soul over, hub and spoke ! 

182 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

Honest, now ! — it hain't no dream 

'At I'm wantin', — but the foe's 
As they wuz ; the same old stream, 
And the same old times, i jacks ! — 
Gim me back my bare feet — and 
Stonebrnise too! — And scratched and 

tanned ! 
And let hottest dog-days shine 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 

In and on betwixt the trees 

'Long- the banks, pour down yer noon, 
Kindo' curdled with the breeze 
And the yallerhammer's tune ; 
And the smokin', chokin' dust 
O' the turnpike at its wusst — 
Saturd'ys, say, when it seems 
Road's jes jammed with country teams! — 

Whilse the old town, fur away 
'Crosst the hazy pastur'-land, 
Dozed-like in the heat o' clay 
Peaceful' as a hired hand. 

Jolt the gravel th'ough the floor 
O' the old bridge ! — grind and roar 
With yer blame' percession-line — 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 

i8=r 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

Souse me and my new straw-hat 

Off the foot-log! — what / care? — 
Fist shoved in the crown o' that — 

Like the old Clown nst to wear. 
Wouldn't swop it fer a' old 
Gin-n-wine raal crown o' gold! — 
Keep yer King ef you'll gim me 
Jes the boy I nst to be ! 

Spill my fishin'-worms ! er steal 

My best "goggle -eye" ! — but you 
Can't lay hands on joys I feel 
Nibblin' like they nst to do ! 
So, in memory, to-day 
Same old ripple lips away 
At my "cork" and saggin' line 
Up and down old Brandy wine! 

There the logs is, round the hill, 
Where "Old Irvin" ust to lift 
Out sunfish from daylight till 

Dew-fall — "fore he'd leave "The Drift' 
And give us a chance — and then 
Kindo 5 fish back home again, 
Ketchin' 'em jes left and right 
Where we hadn't got "a bite" ! 
1 86 





I 






1 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

Er, 'way windin' out and in, — 

Old path th'ough the inrnweeds 
And dog-fennel to yer chin — 

Then come suddent. th'ough the reeds 
And cat-tails, smack into where 
Them-air woods-hogs ust to scare 
Us clean 'crosst the County-line, 
Up and down old Brandy wine! 

But the dim roar o' the dam 

It 'ud coax us furder still 
To'rds the old race, slow and ca'm, 
Slidin' on to Huston's mill — 

Where, I 'spect, "The Freeport crowd" 
Never warmed to us er 'lowed 
We wuz quite so overly 
Welcome as we aimed to be. 

Still it 'peared-like ever'thing — 

Fur away from home as there — 
Flad more relish-like, i jing! — 
Fish in stream, er bird in air ! 
O' them rich old bottom-lands, 
Past where Cowden's Schoolhouse stands ! 
Wortermelons — master-mine! 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 
1 89 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

And sich pop-paws! — Lumps o' raw 

Gold and green, — jes oozy th'ough 
With ripe yaller — like you've saw 
Custard-pie with no crust to : 
And jes gorges o' wild plums, 
Till a feller'd suck his thumbs 
Clean up to his elbows! My! — 
Me some more er Jem me die! 



L T p and down old Brandy wine! . . , 
Stripe me with pokeberry-juice ! — 
Flick me with a pizenvine 

And yell "Yip!'' and lem me loose! 
— Old now as I then wuz young, 
'F I could sing as I have sung, 
Song 'ud surely ring dee-vine 
Up and down old Brandy wine! 




14 1903 






J 



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